


Alistair

by LittleButton



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age Origins
Genre: Aladdin AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-09 01:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20986307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleButton/pseuds/LittleButton
Summary: Street rat. That's what they called him. That's what he is. It's only by chance he meets a princess, is thrown in jail, breaks free and finds an amulet with a mage trapped inside-a mage that only wants her freedom. Unfortunately for them, another wants the amulet for his own selfish plans. A question remains; can Alistair save the day and get the girl or will evil finally win?It's Aladdin but Dragon Age.Sort of but not really my first time publishing here please be nice.





	1. A Summer Day

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-read so I'm sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes

Tevinter is a nice enough place. Beautiful buildings, lovely clothing if a little unpractical. Surely one’s outfit did not need dangling leather pieces from their shoulders or the bottom of their shirts? Wynne, if she’s honest, found it rather impractical (and the pants to puffy). What if it caught on fire? She will admit that the hoods are a great help during midday when the sun is at its brightest. She wears the coats with the hoods, but never the rest of the outfit, she'll stick to her old but comfortable robes instead. The fashion here in Tevinter is far too obnoxious for her tastes.

The day is new and already the sun begins to beat down on the people below. Maker, the days truly did get hotter the longer summer draws on. But despite the heat, the market square is already bustling with people buying groceries and trying to get the best deals—slaves for their masters or just regular ol’ folk who need food to feed their children.

Like many of the people of Ferelden, she disagreed with the idea of having slaves. Though some mages of her Circle felt trapped, they were never slaves of the Templars. The Templars never gave them orders like a master would to a slave. What was the point of Andraste saving and freeing the elves if they were only going to continue being slaves? It was, of course, not the elven peoples' fault that Tevinter is the way that it is. It was the Magisters. But she keeps her thoughts to herself. It was not her place to tell a country how to rule themselves. She merely worries for the children as she often does.

Speaking of children, Wynne notices a few running around, dodging the legs of the adults that surround them. Some are dressed in rags and others in fine materiel. Truly, children are the only ones never to judge on appearances. Their laughter brings joy to her heart. It’s so good to hear the laughter of children and brings forth memories of her own time in the Circle. Every time a child discovered a new trick, there was always the laughter of awe.

Being in Tevinter is different from her time in Ferelden. At least this time she’s not trying to help stop the Blight. She now stands in front of a bookstore waiting for it to open. Of course, she’s here for books of knowledge and history and definitely not after another saucy romance novel. Of course not, don't be preposterous.

She admires the architecture of the bookstore. Such beauty can be found throughout the streets. Nothing seems to have been built in the modern age. It’s all ancient yet taken care of. It’s beautiful and filled with history. One of her dearest friends would certainly enjoy studying the history of every building and every brick.

There’s a tug at her skirt and when she looks down, Wynne finds a handful of children both human and elven all of different classes staring up at her. Some look at her clothes with confused looks and others stare at her face. They can see very clearly that she’s not from around here. Children are such curious little things. A young boy has a hold of her skirt.

“Yes, my dear?” Wynne asks, bending down to his level. “How can I help you?”

“You’re not from around here, are you?” The boy asks as he pushes his black hair out of his eyes. How blunt children can be will never cease to amaze Wynne. It reminds her of a few of her friends.

Wynne chuckles; “No, I am not. I’m come from a faraway land where the Wilds are feared, where the hills are endless and the cold is intense to freeze your little nose,” She boops a child on the nose. He giggles. “I’m from Ferelden.”

“What are you doing here?” An elven girl pipes up. She’s an adorable young girl with her big bright green eyes and blonde hair.

“Why, I’m waiting for the bookshop to open.” She says, standing back up straight. Her knees and back are beginning to ache. She’s sure that’s not what the young girl meant but saying that she’s here to help a friend but will only bring up more questions.

“What’s that?” The little girl asks. She points at the necklace wrapped around Wynne’s wrist. The old mouldy pendant was once gold and is shaped like a demons head. “It’s ugly.”

_It is rather ugly, isn’t it?_ It wasn’t always hers and if she’s honest, Wynne doesn’t quite remember how it became to be in her possession. However, she can’t bring herself to throw it away.

“Like so many things,” Wynne says, “it’s not what’s on the outside that counts but what is on the inside.” She sits down on the steps of the bookstore. The elven girl sits beside her, her eyes never leaving the old pendant. The story already begins to form inside her head. “This is no ordinary pendant, however. It once changed a young man’s life. A young man, who like this pendant, was more than what he seemed. He was a rose amongst thorns.” She pauses and gazes at every child. “Perhaps you would all like to hear the tale?”

Some of the children nod and sit at her feet. A few remain standing and stare at her warily. There is time before the bookstore opens.

Wynne begins her tale; “It begins on a dark night where a dark man waits with a dark purpose…”


	2. Before the Dawn

The hour before the dawn is always the blackest and coldest. Not even the lit torch could burn bright enough. The blackness of night swallowed it. But it did not matter. The man upon his horse knows exactly where he is. This where he needs to be. He is not alone, however. A bodyguard lies in wait within the shadows. Hired loyalty would not be the Rendon Howe’s first choice. But so long as his gold was good, his bodyguard was loyal. And Howe’s gold is always good.

Howe begins to wonder how good this associate; Taliesen is anyway. Howe can’t help but wonder if the man got lost or decided to stay the night at a tavern with a wench in his bed.

They stand at the foot of a mountain. Up through the mountain path, sits an ancient temple. What Howe desires sits deep within. He can’t get in, however. But his bodyguard assured him that Taliesen will get the key to enter the temple.

Behind him, a horse snorts as it walks up the slight hill. Taliesen has arrived.

“You’re late,” Howe says in disgust when Taliesen comes to a halt beside him.

Taliesen shrugs; “Apologies, m’lord.” He reaches into his vest and pulls out a leather strap with a long key dangling on the end, “Had to slit a few throats to get it.”

Howe reaches for the key but Taliesen pulls it away and out of his reach. He sneers in anger. How dare this insignificant little rat—!

“Ah, ah, ah,” He wiggles his finger at him as though he was scolding a small child. Howe’s face, barely hidden by the torch he carries, burns red. “My payment, if you will.”

In a blink of an eye, the key flies out of Taliesen’s hand as a dagger flies past and lands within the trunk of a tree. Taliesen holds his hand. It’s been cut.

Howe’s bodyguard walks past them, into the light of the torch and then back in the dark. And though he was fast in his movements, it was long enough for Taliesen to recognise the blonde hair and the tattoo.

Zevran.

“Don’t worry, my old friend,” Zevran says as he pulls his dagger out of the tree. “You will soon get what’s coming to you.”

He passes the old key to Howe. Having it in his hands at long last brings him a joy he hasn’t felt in many years. He is so close.

“Finally,” Howe speaks with glee. “I will retrieve what I deserve.” No longer will he bow to those who deem themselves above him.

Zevran pulls his own horse from out of the shrubbery and rides a little behind Howe as they make their way up the mountain path.

The path is dangerous in the dark. It bends and turns at awkward points. The path thins and widens at the oddest places. The trek is perilous. But they reach the top. They march through the empty village and to the old temple.

To stand in front of it now nearly felt like an honour. It’s said that this is where the Urn of Sacred Ashes of Andraste lies. Perhaps, if he were any other man, he would attempt to find the Urn. But as it stands, his cares for a dead woman doesn’t exist. What mattered was the amulet within the temple.

“At last, after all these years of tracking it down, the amulet is within my reach,” Howe says in almost wonder.

Taliesen lets out a low whistle; “Maker’s breath, that’s a touch intimidating.”

As though Howe had forgotten Taliesen was even there, he blinked at the man as if to say _why are you talking to me?_

“Now,” Zevran speaks up, taking Taliesen’s reins. “Bring back the amulet for the good lord here and the rest of the treasure is yours.” He pauses; “Unless the terms have been changed. Because that would be rather awkward, now wouldn’t it?” He laughs to ease the tension.

Howe dismounts his horse and walks towards the temple’s large doors. A magical barrier hums quietly on the door’s surface. If Howe was a guessing man, he would guess that it was to stop anyone from simply breaking down the door. Pity they didn’t bring a mage.

He holds the key to the keyhole. There’s an unknown force, magic perhaps, but it calls for the key, pulls at it. Howe lets it go and the key snaps into place in the keyhole. Slowly and cautiously, he turns the key. The barrier fades away and the door swings open on squeaky hinges.

Stepping back, he moves out of the way and allows Taliesen to enter.

“Remember, that amulet is mine. Whatever else you find in there is yours. But bring the amulet back to me.” He speaks with a vicious sneer, poison drips from every word. But despite that, Taliesen brushes him off.

“Where did you find this idiot?” Howe asks Zevran when he walks back to the horses.

"You told me to find someone no one would miss if something went wrong,” Zevran replies with utter ease. “And I did. Besides, I have unfinished business with our friend. Forgive me, but I do hope something happens.”

A twisted smile graces Howe’s face. Paid loyalty isn’t always so terrible, it would seem.

Taliesen enters the temple. It’s dim, barely lit by the torches on the wall. Multiple pillars stand proud and tall throughout the room, despite the cracks of time seeming to try and drag them down. Further into the room stands a man in silver armour, a sword piercing the ground as he holds it within his hands.

Proudly, Taliesen walks forward to meet this man. He’s looked death in the eye and told it _not today_ as he’s escaped again and again life or death situations.

“Who walks these halls?” The Guardian asks. His voice sounds ancient, tired and suspicious. He barely looks a day over fifty. Taliesen could take him if he refused to let him pass.

“Taliesen,” He gives a flourishing and dramatic bow. “A simple but a _very _capable assassin.”

“Answer this question, assassin, and you may pass. But know that one whose worth lies far within one’s answer and further within the temple.”

“Alright, ask your question.”

The question that was asked is lost to time and history but whatever Taliesen’s answer was, the Guardian did not find him worthy. The temple’s door is slammed shut, the key ejected from the keyhole and the magical seal reinstated. The blast of the magical barrier caused the horses to rear up onto their hind legs throwing Zevran off. He lands with a loud thud on the dirt.

By now, the dawn reaches over the mountain top, lighting the towers of the temple in golden light.

“At this rate, my friend,” Zevran says as he pulls himself up and dusts the dirt off, “You are never going to get that amulet. Look at this! The barrier back in place, the key in the dirt and now no one to go get it. If I must say, at least it was Taliesen. Ah, Taliesen, you shall not be missed.”

“Patience, Zevran.” Howe says as he picks the key up out of the dirt and shoves it into his pocket. “Taliesen was obviously less than worthy.”

“That’s a big surprise,” Zevran mutters, “I think I might just have a heart attack and die from being not surprised. What’s the plan now? I assume you have a plan.”

“We find someone who is worthy.” And surely, within Ferelden, it can’t be that hard, can it?


End file.
